_Faith_ makes me any thing, or all That I believe is in the sacred story; And when sin placeth me in Adam’s fall, _Faith_ sets me higher in his glory. _George Herbert._ From purer manners to sublimer _faith_, Is nature’s unavoidable ascent; An honest deist, where the gospel shines, Matured to nobler, in the christian ends. _Young._ If weak thy _faith_, why choose the harder side? We nothing know but what is marvellous; Yet what is marvellous, we can’t believe. So weak our reason, and so great our God, What most surprises in the sacred page, Or full as strange, or stranger, must be true. _Faith_ is not reason’s labour, but repose. _Young._ O ye, whom, struggling on life’s craggy road, With obstacles and dangers, secret foes Supplant, false friends betray, disastrous rage Of elements, of war, of civil broil Brings down to Poverty’s cold floor, while grief Preys on the heart, and dims the sinking eye; Faint not! There is, who rules the storm, whose hand Feeds the young ravens, nor permits blind chance To close one sparrow’s flagging wing in death. Trust in the rock of ages. Now, even now He speaks, and all is calm. Or if, to prove Your inmost soul, the hurricane still spread Its licensed ravages. He whispers hope, Earnest of comfort; and through blackest night Bids keen-eyed _Faith_ on heaven’s pure sunshine gaze, And learn the glories of her future home. _Gisborne._ The pious man In this bad world, when mists and couchant storms Hide heaven’s fine circlet, spring aloft in _faith_ Above the clouds that threat him, to the fields Of ether, where the day is never veiled With intervening vapours, and looks down Serene upon the troublous sea, which hides The earth’s fair breast; that sea whose nether face To grovelling mortals frowns and darkens all, But on whose billowy back, from man conceal’d The glowing sunbeams play. _H. K. White._ Through _Faith_ on earth, man holds a life sublime, And in the past and future, as he lists, Expatiates, and confers with every clime. Through _faith_ he knows whereby the frame subsists, Of the expanded universe, by whom Created, and whereto it yet exists; A stranger and a pilgrim till the tomb Opens the way to the celestial land, Where God prepares a city, as a womb. So hopeful o’er the grave the _faithful_ stand, Wherein their brethren in the dust repose, Grasped in the Father’s Omnipresent hand. _J. A. Heraud._